Can't Go Back Now
by JessiOnTheMoon
Summary: Sleep has never come easy to Kurt. He stayed awake so often at night that sometimes the events in his life seemed more like pauses in his thinking than actual living.


**My first Glee fic! This was originally supposed to be set to _How to Fight Loneliness _by Wilco, but halfway through writing, I realized that _Can't Go Back Now _by the Weepies seemed to fit much better, and is just an amazing song. This fic has no dialogue so if that isn't your thing, you _can_ go back now (get it?). There _is_ Kurt/Blaine but very slightly; it's a Kurt-centric look at some of the things we've seen on the show, and some things of my own. Please R/R!**

**Obviously I don't own Glee. **

Can't Go Back Now

Finn called him an overthinker, told Kurt he spent too much time thinking and not enough time doing. All Kurt could do was counter it with the suggestion that Finn might spend a little more time intellectualizing, at which Finn cocked his head and frowned. Kurt scowled and went back to his homework.

As he lay awake that night he thought maybe Finn wasn't as dumb as he let on.

_Yesterday when you were young  
>Everything you needed done was done for you<br>Now you do it on your own  
>But you find you're all alone, what can you do?<em>

Sleep has never come easy to Kurt.

When he was younger, he recognized himself as different from the other boys, but couldn't quite pinpoint how or why. After being teased for opting to spend his recess playing with the girls, he would get off the bus with the bitter taste of shame in his mouth and sand in his hair. His mother would rinse out his hair without a question, whispering quiet encouragement. At night, hot tears would run down his face until she would come in, enfold him in her arms and sing softly into his hair until he drifted off.

The night after her funeral, their house full of flowers and cards of condolence, he lay in his bed, staring at his door as though she would come through any second, declaring the whole thing an elaborate joke. He folded his arms around himself, pretending they were hers, humming lightly through his tears.

For hours he lay awake, his eyes burning with the realization she was never going to sing him to sleep again. He gingerly climbed out of bed and padded down the hall to the room now occupied only by his father. The door creaked open and he saw his father much in the same position Kurt himself had been.

Burt motioned for him and Kurt threw himself into his father's arms, burying his face into his nightshirt. They lay together, breathing in sync until Kurt slid off his father's chest into the empty space next to him. He fell asleep finally, his arms wrapped around his mother's pillow, enveloped in her scent.

_You and me walk on, walk on, walk on  
>'Cause you can't go back now<em>

He stayed awake so often at night that sometimes the events in his life seemed more like pauses in his thinking than actual living. They were an annoyance, interrupting his internal monologue. He felt his acting skills were so practiced, the face he plastered on every morning fooling most everyone he knew. He'd come out to Mercedes first, mostly to save her broken heart, but even though saying the words out loud for the first time to someone other than his reflection should've been a great weight off of his shoulders, he felt exposed, vulnerable, weak.

The first time Karofsky harassed him was well before he'd come out, throwing him against the lockers and calling him a fag, and his cheeks burned with shame at the accusation, though he didn't deny anything, didn't yell back, just picked himself off the floor and readjusted his bag, his head held high, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

He had Mercedes now, to talk to, but she couldn't understand, couldn't do anything more than sympathize and comfort her friend, dusting him off and hugging him.

Every day he walked into McKinley, he smiled widely when he passed Mercedes or Tina pushing Artie down the hall, but as soon as they were gone, the smile disappeared and he went on the lookout for jocks, slushies, fists, a set of unoccupied lockers that mocked him, cutting into his back whenever Karofsky or Azimio shoved him into them. He willed himself to become invisible, counted down the hours, minutes, till Glee club and the relative safety of the choir room, where he could relax and breathe and laugh along with the jokes he didn't hear and placate Mercedes' worried look with a smile. She always accepted that, and though Kurt loved her dearly and she was his best friend, his confidant, she always seemed oblivious to what was going on in Kurt's mind. He didn't blame her - why should she spend all her time pitying him and his problems? He was going to have them his whole life, and he didn't wish them on anyone. In that regard, he was alone. He had to do it on his own.

_You know there will be days  
>When you're so tired<br>That you can't take another step  
>The night will have no stars<br>And you'll think you've gone as far  
>As you will ever get<em>

On rare occasions, sheer exhaustion got the better of Kurt. He stirred, trying to figure out why he was so uncomfortable, trying to remember getting into bed, coming up with nothing but fragments of memory. He opened his eyes and it came crashing in on him like a rogue wave. He took in his surroundings: the steady beep of the heart monitor, the rise and fall of his father's chest, frown on his face. Tears sprung to his eyes and he squeezed his dad's larger hand, willing him to squeeze back. He didn't.

When Carole ushered him home against his will, fussing over him to keep herself busy and her mind occupied. He sat on the couch, lost, running over every possible ending to this scenario, lingering on the worst possible. Carole sat silently next to him, taking his hand. He looked up at her through his swimming eyes; she smiled tearfully back at him. He took a shuddering breath and she pulled him to her. He folded himself into her arms, savoring the motherly embrace, but her scent was all wrong. He loved her for caring so much about him and his father but she didn't know the way his mother petted his hair, which song to sing to him. He shook those thoughts from his head and accepted what Carole had to give him.

When the day came that his dad squeezed his hand back and blinked owlishly at the room, Kurt let out the breath it felt like he'd been holding for days. He wanted to sleep for a week, but each night he got his rote few hours.

He found himself falling back into a habit he'd had when he was younger, sitting outside his dad's bedroom door to listen to him breathing. He supposed it reminded him of that first night without his mom, Burt directing their breathing, directing their shared grief into something tangible, something wholly _alive_.

_You and me walk on, walk on, walk on  
>'Cause you can't go back now<em>

When he skipped school at McKinley for a day to become a New Directions spy at Dalton Academy, his life turned upside-down. He'd never skipped school a day in his life, but he was pretty sure that if he met a boy like Blaine Anderson every day he did, he'd say goodbye to Mercedes and Mr. Schuester forever. He also discovered that he was a terrible spy, and Blaine called him on it almost immediately, though there was an amused sparkle in his eye.

When he transfered to Dalton, he was grateful for something new to dwell on at night; he made mental lists of the differences between his McKinley glee club and the Warblers, the new friends he had made, though hesitant at opening up. He thought about Blaine and the _what if_s, though he wasn't sure his like of, or hero-worship of, or whatever it was he had with Blaine was reciprocated. Eventually he decided it didn't matter and spent the evening with his fantasies.

_And yeah, yeah, you go where you want to go  
>Yeah, yeah, be what you want to be<br>If you ever turn around, you'll see me_

The night of Rachel's infamous drink-a-thon party, Kurt, despite having only a sip, felt ill. After the kiss, he just wanted to go home. Instead he stuck by Finn's side, not wanting to look at Blaine, but finding his gaze constantly drawn to the other boy in this carefree state, laughing and smiling and dancing like he'd never seen him.

It was to Kurt's great relief when the party died down and they managed to wrangle Blaine into the backseat of Kurt's navigator. He babbled drunkenly, laughing to himself, Kurt nodding and 'hmm'ing in what seemed like the appropriate places. When they pulled up to the house, Finn and Kurt gingerly extracted Blaine from the car, setting him on his feet. He moaned miserably but accepted Kurt's arm around his waist, stumbling toward the house. Finn checked for parents and, seeing none, waved them forward.

They managed to make it up to Kurt's room, Blaine landing with a _thud_ on the bed, kicking his shoes off and scooting up to the headboard. He wrapped himself around a pillow and promptly fell asleep. Kurt let out a breath and changed out of his clothes, sat in front of his vanity and rubbing his face. Too tired and frustrated to care about washing his face, he carefully crawled into his bed, careful to keep room between him and Blaine.

The light of the moon through his window made it easy to study Blaine's face as he twitched and smiled in his sleep. Kurt sighed, his fingers itching to cross the few inches between them, to pull him closer. He studied Blaine's features - the unebelievable curls in his hair, the thick eyebrows, strong jaw with the beginnings of stubble. When Kurt finally relaxed enough to doze, he was awakened with a start when Blaine flipped over in his sleep, wrapping an arm around Kurt and pulling him to him.

Something snapped in Kurt - tears sprung to his eyes and he inhaled sharply. Folded in Blaine's arms, he fought the urge to cry; he closed his eyes and suddenly he was with his mother again, feeling as safe as he ever had, feeling loved. _Breathe in, breathe out_ Kurt repeated in his mind until the panicked feeling subsided and he turned fully to look at Blaine. He was looking back at Kurt through half-lidded eyes, a frown on his face. He moved to wipe a tear from Kurt's face, settling his hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly before falling back asleep.

Kurt thought he might've finally found an acceptable reason not to sleep and watched Blaine throughout the night.

_I can't really say  
>Why everybody wishes they were somewhere else<br>But in the end, the only steps that matter  
>Are the ones you take all by yourself<em>

By night, Kurt wandered the now-familiar halls of the Dalton dorms, floating through the dark like a ghost. Clicking his door quietly, he padded in his bare feet over the plush carpet, always taking the same path. Inevitably, he found himself at Blaine's door. He sat on the floor, leaning his face against the cool wood, sighing tiredly. He wondered idly when the last night was he'd had a proper night's sleep. Certainly not soon after his transfer, the memory of Karofsky's threat ringing in his head, plaguing his dreams.

He reasons to himself that if he remembers dreams, he must have slept sometime; all he sees before he wakes up is Karofsky, and a suspiciously Blaine-like figure chasing him away, soothing Kurt into consciousness. That was how Kurt fell back into the nightly ritual of seeking out someone's breathing to relax his mind. Being so far away from his dad, from the safety of his own bed, he thought that with Blaine's knowledge of his past, he wouldn't mind that he was the one Kurt chose.

He isn't sure how long he sat at Blaine's door, but by the time his hazy brain registers the noises coming from the room it is too late for him to move.

The door slowly opened and a squinty, bed-headed Blaine appeared in the crack of the doorway. Kurt looked up at him, wide-eyed, blushing furiously. Blaine raised his eyebrows in question, but Kurt just gaped stupidly. Opening the door futher, he helped Kurt from the floor, pulling him inside, unphased by the fact that Kurt chose to keep silent vigil by his door.

Blaine fell into bed, yawning widely, pulling Kurt in tight to his body. Kurt buried his face into the scent that was essentially _Blaine_ but somehow reminded him so much of his mother, letting out a deep, tired sigh. Blaine's lips ghosted over Kurt's temple, not leaving a kiss, just resting comfortably. Blaine took a deep breath and began softly singing into Kurt's hair.

His eyelids grew heavy as Blaine's arms tightened around his waist, one hand moving up to card through his hair. Under Blaine's careful ministrations, Kurt breathed in - _safe_, he thought, _it's the smell of safe_ - and succumbed to sleep.

_You and me walk on, walk on, walk on  
>Yeah, you and me walk on, walk on, walk on<br>'Cause you can't go back now  
>Walk on, walk on, walk on<br>You can't go back now_


End file.
